


The Envelope

by Manniness



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Manniness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: When Alice next chances upon the rabbit hole, she knows precisely what – and whom! – she wants.</p><p>Rating: M for semi-explicit sexual situations</p><p>Notes: "The Envelope" was written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/aiw_porn_battle/">aiw_porn_battle</a> 2011, prompt: envelope</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Envelope

The rabbit hole.

Yes, it had been a bit hard for Alice to miss it. It had gaped at the base of the wizened, twisted old tree, yawning wide and whisperingly. It had stared back at her with all the weight of an infinite abyss.

Of course she had seen it.

Luckily, her lunch companion had not.

“Let’s eat over here, shall we?” he had nearly-but-not-quite decreed (it had been a statement more than a question and phrased with the smallest hint of rising intonation only because he is fully aware of how Alice feels about his bossier tendencies) and then he had gestured a bit further down the trail toward a patch of invitingly golden sunlight.

Alice had – perhaps uncharacteristically – readily agreed.

And she had promptly allowed that rabbit hole – just a momentary dash away! – to consume her every thought. Could it be the same one she had fallen down so long ago? Could it still be an entrance to Underland? Could it be her gateway once again to that mystical land and mad creatures and her much-missed and oft-dreamed of friend, the Hatter?

Oh, she _hopes...!_

“Alice!”

“Hm?”

She looks up and Hamish gives her a weak glare. “Have you even heard a word I’ve said?”

“Of course.” Her own name, just now.

He fidgets tellingly. Alice gulps. Oh, blast. The man had proposed again, hadn’t he? It’s becoming a bit of a ritual: every time her ship docks in port, here he is with some attempt at a vaguely romantic diversion and that same damn question.

“I’m sorry, Hamish,” she begins and then hurriedly continues when his look turns obstinate. “I’ve only just arrived! Perhaps if I had a chance to settle in and think it over...” Although she knows what her answer would be; the two of them have grown no more inclined to suit each other over the years.

Somewhat mollified, Hamish replies, “I shall look forward to your acceptance this time, Alice.”

She snorts. Honestly, how can he think she would _ever_ accept? Hamish, of course, misunderstands her humor – as he _always_ does. She diverts the imminent male posturing, blustering and inevitable accusations with a challenge of her own, “Honestly, Hamish. What in the world would you want with an old spinster like me? You know I would be more than happy to loan you the funds you require, and at a very reasonable interest rate...”

Predictably, his nose thrusts high into the air. And it’s a good thing the man is obsessed with keeping handkerchiefs available for blowing that nose or he might have been flashing rather unseemly nostrils about in public.

A travesty, surely.

“This is not about money.”

“Of course. How crass of me to suggest so.”

He sighs. “Yes, well, after all these years, I’ve come to expect that from you.”

Yes, she supposes he has.

He counters the moment of awkward silence by consulting his pocket watch. Alice stares at the time piece and remembers _another_ pocket watch and the _creature_ that had tapped it impatiently before disappearing into this very wood so long ago.

“You’ve made me late,” he announces.

Alice smiles. “Then you go on. I’ll clean up our picnic things and follow behind you.”

He bristles. “It would be _most_ ungentlemanly for me to simply leave you here to—!”

“I insist,” she replies firmly. “You are a busy man, Lord Ascot. I – of all people – know the importance of keeping a well-ordered schedule.” Mostly because she has been dreadfully late for one thing or another most of her life. “Go on and see to your next appointment.”

“Thank you, Alice.” He hesitates for a moment and then, brazenly, leans forward and gives her a quick peck on the cheek. “You understand better than anyone else, you know.”

“And that’s why you keep asking me to marry you?” she muses with a wry grin.

“Precisely.”

She watches him go as she blindly reaches for the plates and platters and cups and spoons... and as soon as he has disappeared along the forest path, Alice gathers her skirts up and _rushes_ back to the old tree and the gaping rabbit hole.

“Could you be the same one?” she asks it.

For years, she has dreamed of stumbling across it again. In fact, after her first trip abroad, she had fully intended to seek it out and dive down into the world she _knows_ exists there. But then, when she had set foot upon English soil, she had found her sister abandoned by that cheating rotter, Lowell, and her mother’s health failing, and so Alice had put off the search for this rabbit hole and had returned to work with the company. Time – _years –_ had passed before Alice had thought to seriously question her reasons for delaying her return to Underland. It had come to her on her thirtieth birthday that the reason she – now a successful business woman in her own right – had still hesitated to seek out that mystical portal had had nothing to do with obligations to her now-very-comfortable family.

No, she knows why she had not sought out this rabbit hole: she had feared being unable to find it. And if she had _not_ found it, what then? Well, the most _logical_ conclusion would be this: her failure would be due to the fact that there _is_ no magical rabbit hole to find at all... because Underland really _had_ been nothing more than a dream.

No. No! She had not been able to bear the thought. Nor had she been capable of allowing her heart to break that way. She _needs_ to Believe...

But now... now it is a moot point. For the rabbit hole _is here!_ She has found it again!

And even at the age of thirty-three, she longs for that crazy, mad, wonderful world.

“Could you be the same one?” she repeats, gazing into the inky depths of the rabbit hole. “Yes,” she answers. “I Believe you are.”

And then she closes her eyes...

… and dives headfirst into it.

The fall is as frightening as it is familiar. The book shelves and bureaus, the musty brass bed and ill-tuned piano... She remembers to throw up her arms in front of her face an instant before she hits the bottom... or rather the floor of the Room of Doors and crashes through it then smacks into the ceiling. She reaches out, scrabbles for the chandelier – all the candles now long since melted to nothing but thorny, black wicks – but before she can get a grip on it, gravity reverses and she lands with a lung-emptying _thud!_ on the good-as-new (if rather dusty) floor.

“Ow,” she declares to the room, wondering at the soft, eerie glow which inexplicably emanates from the unlit chandelier above her head... like a memory of candlelight.

And when she sits up she looks no further than the table and the bottle of Pishsalver with its crackly and yellowed label and faded writing. The key is beside it and the glass box of Upelkuchen under the table and just there is the door with the lock it fits and—!

“Argh!” Alice gasps, stumbling back. She presses a hand over her pounding heart and stares at the figure slumped next to the small door.

The figure... of a man.

Once, he had been sitting in a chair – its remains are pinned beneath him and scattered across the floor – but it had seemingly disintegrated out from under him. Now he slumps, his legs at a slightly uncomfortable-looking angle, against the wall, his head bowed but his hat unmoved.

His hat...

“Hat... Hatter?” Alice whispers. Belatedly, she realizes that the whisper is useless – if he had not roused when she had crashed through the ceiling... or floor... or what-have-you, then he is not about to respond to so subtle a sound!

Alice takes a deep breath and moves toward him. Her heart pounds anew at the thought of him, so silent and unresponsive and slouched like this. She does not want to acknowledge what that might mean – must mean! He is... Her Hatter is...

 _Alive!_

Alice sighs out a thankful breath as she tentatively touches the back his hand. Ah, his hand. His wonderful, un-decayed-or-rotting-or-even-cold hand! She presses her palm to his skin and curls her fingers around his and marvels: he is warm and his flesh is firm and his skin taut with lingering youth.

“Hatter?” she tries again.

Again, he does not answer. In fact, he does not even appear to be breathing.

Gently, she removes his hat and sets it aside. She has never seen him – or any other man for that matter – asleep and she finds herself mesmerized by him. Beneath his color-smudged eyelids, there is no movement or hint of awareness, and yet she suspects he is there. Waiting.

For her?

She doesn’t dare hope... Why, it would be the very height of arrogance to presume...

She reaches out and, grasping his shoulder, shakes him gently.

“Hatter?”

Nothing. He continues slouching and not breathing.

“ _Underland,_ ” she curses, irritated with the utter illogical-ness of the situation. “Welcome back, Alice,” she mocks. “Here’s a lovely gift for you.” She gestures grandly toward the Hatter but he does not appreciate the effort. She huffs and glances around the room as if she might find the culprit conveniently waiting for her to vent her frustrations upon it. “Contrary, mad, impossible...”

Her grumbles die into silence as she turns back to her room...mate. And, oh yes, it _is_ good to see him again... she just wishes he were a bit more... lively. Well, perhaps there is a riddle in this, too. Perhaps she is not looking hard enough. So, look she does. Her survey of the Hatter’s person – his jacket and kilt (why would he still be wearing that?) – yields something... interesting. There, peeking out from within his left breast, inner jacket pocket, is a corner of something white. Or nearly white.

“I beg your pardon, Hatter,” she mutters – just in case he _is_ listening! – and reaches for it.

“An envelope?”

Frowning, Alice turns it over in her hands and finds that it is...

“Addressed to me?” Brows raised in disbelief, she glances back at the Hatter’s slack face... then back at the letter and its slanted and spidery, masculine script. “So you _were_ waiting for me?” She reaches out and touches his face, cups his cheek as she had once done so long ago. Her hand is a better fit for it now that she’s the proper size, although it is not nearly as youthful as it had once been.

“I’m so very late. And so very sorry,” she chokes out.

And, again, when he does not respond, she can only turn back to the envelope in her hands. Taking a deep breath, she does what one would _logically_ do with an envelope addressed to oneself: she opens it.

A small card rests within and the edges crumble even though she is careful as she pulls it halfway out. On the aged parchment, she finds two words:

 _Kiss me._

She snorts. “Well, this is a bit of a diversion from the expected, wouldn’t you say?” she asks him. She sighs when she gets no response.

She looks back at the words and purses her lips in speculation.

 _Kiss me._

Well, really, what could be the harm in trying? Besides, she knows it is best to follow instructions in Underland. They tend to be the most expeditious method, in the end.

Her pulse races and Alice licks her lips nervously as she realizes what it is she is seriously considering doing. No, what she is _about_ to do! Holding the envelope and the instructions cautiously in one hand, she lifts the other and tilts the Hatter’s chin upward. She gazes at those dark lips and the hint of his widely-spaced front teeth beyond them. How many times has she imagined this very moment? Albeit with a bit more participation on his part...

His eyes are still closed and his muscles completely lax. It feels a bit like a betrayal, kissing him without his conscious consent. She takes another fortifying breath, checks the instruction once more to see if the letters have somehow rearranged themselves since she’d last checked...

 _Kiss me._

She sighs. “All right.”

And then she leans closer to him, ignoring the dust crawling up her skirt and the ache of her knees against the hard floor. Alice gazes once more at his closed eyes, his high cheekbones, his unsmiling mouth...

Unable to delay any longer, she presses her lips to his.

For a breathless moment, nothing happens. She begins to panic: perhaps she is doing it incorrectly, according to Underlandian standards? She struggles to remember seeing even one kiss during her previous visit (and also her childhood ones!) but comes up empty. Daringly, she parts her lips a bit, nibbles softly at his, brazenly touches her tongue to that space between his lips, and then...

And then...!

His lips answer. They stir, pucker, reach and press against hers. His chest expands with a deep breath and he leans toward her – eyes still firmly closed (she knows this because she checks) – and she shivers when his tongue, soft and warm, dares to dip between her lips... as quick as lightning and as profound as a thunder clap!

She shudders and his hands reach for her. His fingers curl around her upper arms. He leans away, briefly, eyes still closed. “Please,” he lisps on a rasp, “ _please_ be Alice...”

“I am,” she whispers back, not wanting to move away but thinking she must now – for propriety’s sake, at least. “I am absolutely Alice.”

His lips stretch into a wide grin and his eyelashes flutter and then Alice finds herself staring into eyes that truly are every bit as impossibly green as she has imagined, every day, over the past fourteen years. “Alice...” he muses, remarks, summarizes, proclaims.

The Hatter leans forward, his gaze on her mouth and his hands still grasping her close, and then he stops. “Oh... oh! I—!”

The jumble of intentions is familiar to her and she recalls several occasions during her previous visit when he had behaved thusly...

This time, she knows better than to let him retreat. She places her hands – one still holding the envelope – on his chest and leans in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Hatter...” she murmurs in invitation. Alice turns just the smallest bit toward him as he – groaning softly – accepts.

She feels his legs dragging at her skirt as he shifts and then urges her up and closer yet. She complies, her heart pounding as she dares to plant one knee on either side of his hips. Her acceptance seems to do something to him – something powerful – and suddenly, he is _feasting_ upon her mouth with single-minded, furious intensity and his masculine whines – needy and breathless – make her gasp.

For a moment, she marvels at her own stupidity: how could she have spent fourteen years denying herself this passion? This moment? This man? And then his hands drop to her uncorsetted waist and pull her closer even as his hips thrust toward her.

“Ah!” she declares at the feel of his presence _there_ between her thighs and pressing against the cradle of her hips.

His fingers twitch and his grasp loosens. He leans away, his green eyes wide and brows arched. Before he can apologize for being so forward, Alice reaches for his hand and places it squarely over her breast, his fingertips brushing against the buttons of her blouse.

He groans. “Oh, aye, mae wee little boy... Aye...”

Alice shivers as he lifts his other hand and sets to the task of relieving her blouse buttons of their burden. He nuzzles against her throat. His breath is warm and his lips are soft and his teeth are tantalizingly gentle. And when her blouse gapes open and he hesitantly fits one trembling hand to the curve of her breast, even through the fabric of her shrift, the heat of his fingers _burns_ and _blazes_ and, moaning, she leans into his touch.

“Hatter, _please..._ ”

Her hips rock against his without her conscious intent. Her belly feels strangely achingly empty and and hungers for more...

“Alice, sae sorry,” he mumbles between worshipful kisses along her bare neck and collarbone. “Nae bed te b’ had... an’ I’ve e’en lost mae chair...”

“I don’t care.”

He giggles and she smiles at the rhyme. Her eyes open and she gazes into his as his hands cup her breasts. She pants and presses closer, reaching for the fabric of her skirt to pull it out of the way. Yes, she knows very well what she’s doing – what they are doing. Alice may not have any... _practical_ experience at this, but she _is_ a grown woman and a well-traveled one at that. She has seen pagan artwork of couplings and read deliciously explicit texts concerning this very act.

He wiggles a bit beneath her and his kilt rides up until she can feel the heat of his bare hips against the thin undergarments she wears. She has a fleeting wish for both he and she to be perfectly bare, but then his thumbs pass over her aching nipples and her thoughts scatter. She rocks toward him and feels his length slide against her and touch her... _there_ , through the slit in her drawers.

She shudders.

“Alice,” he says with surprising coherence, firmness, and care. He collects her left had with his right, raises it to his lips, and presses soft kisses to her wrist, her knuckles, her fingertips. Inexplicably, she feels tears gather in her eyes at his tender attentions, so different from the wild passion of his earlier kisses. His other hand moves to her waist again, urges her a bit forward and she feels him press against her again. Daringly, she wiggles her hips a bit until he is precisely where he ought to be. And then she presses down and a bit forward, taking him in just the smallest bit.

His throat works and his breath whistles but he doesn’t look away from her gaze. She pauses to appreciate the feel of it – alien and yet so familiar – as they come together for this first time. Like her, he seems to be marveling at the sensation, and makes no move to rush. And when she begins to become accustomed to him that far within her, she tilts her hips a bit further and takes him a bit deeper.

His breaths become heavier and his eyes even more unfocused, but he does not close them or look away. He swallows but no sounds emerge from his throat, for this – Alice understands – is not the time for words. The only thing she wishes, at this exact moment, to share with him is this feeling.

Alice pauses again and her thighs tremble; she wants to seat herself completely but no, not quite yet. She expects there will be pain, so she prepares for it, reminds herself that tensing will only make it worse. She takes a deep breath, smiles for both him and herself, and then pushes her hips flush against his.

The pain... is non-existent. The romantic in her reminds her: how could she ever, for even one mad moment, think that there would be pain between her and her Hatter? Of course there wouldn’t. Because they – and this moment – are meant to be. The thought makes her stomach tighten and the Hatter gasps. Pleasure or heat or whatever he feels at this moment of their joining, has split his gaze in twain. She doubts he can see her – or anything – clearly, his eyes are so out of alignment. But he proves his lucidity with his next breath:

“Alice...”

She hears a desperate request in his tone, so she does it again: tightens her muscles around him.

“Ungh!” he informs her, his hips pushing briefly and mindlessly against hers.

He goes deeper then and the friction makes her gasp. He is inside her. Moving inside her. The thought is so compelling, she becomes a slave to it instantly. “Yes,” she encourages him, thrusting against him as he moves again into her. He slumps a bit against the wall, bracing his shoulders and bending his knees behind her and the next time they come together is the deepest, the hottest, the best yet.

Alice gasps and he chokes on a whine and their bodies borrow a rhythm from ageless instinct. It feels so... absolute. So total. Alice despairs when her legs begin to tire and her knees ache. She wants more, for although she does not feel the rapturous joy she had seen on the faces of the sculptures surrounding the pagan temples of India and further east, she can _imagine_ the pleasure this might bring if only she could... if only... just a bit more and...!

“Klotchen,” the Hatter growls a moment before he wraps his arms around her waist and rolls to the side. Alice gasps as he looms over her. She is flat on her back and he is above her and still _within_ her and...

He thrusts and the feeling is so _perfect_ she fears she will lose her mind. She pushes against him, grabs his jacket lapels and brings her knees up and he goes deeper yet! But there is something about _this_ position – his freedom of movement, perhaps, or the way he cages her against the floor – that brings that unspeakable pleasure within her reach.

“Hatter!” she gasps, feeling her body tighten without her consent.

“Ngh!” he replies on an incoherent whine, his lips mouthing her name in silence.

And when the end comes, Alice does not immediately recognize it as such. She fears she is having a heart failure. Her lungs ache and her throat locks and _every_ muscle in her body tenses...!

And then she is breathing again, panting, and her toes are tingling and the Hatter is pressed against her, holding her close as his hips drive against her faster and faster. Alice turns toward his wild, orange hair, nuzzles his neck and somehow finds the strength to hold her knees high and wide to accommodate him.

“Alice...!” he breathes, shocked and panting, in her ear. His hips pause, thrust once more, and then stop.

She pets his hair and his back as he struggles to catch his breath. She hooks her ankles together at the small of his back and simply _feels._ He is heavy, pressing her down, and he is still inside her and he had _come_ inside her and Alice is aware of what that could mean but it does nothing to interfere with the smug, feminine satisfaction of having pleased him, of having _had_ him for herself, of having _taken_ him into her own body. She would liken the feeling to ownership except that she has never felt _blessed_ or _humbled_ by the fact that she possesses a fine house in the country or works of art by many Italian and Parisian masters...

This feeling is _better_ than owning or having baubles or trifles or other pretty things. It is _more._

She basks in it until his weight becomes uncomfortable and she can feel him sliding out of her. But before Alice can fidget, he braces himself on his hands and leans back. When he breathes out her name again, it is on a sigh of relief and in the tone of thanks. He kisses her and, smiling, she kisses him back. Still, she cannot find a single word to say to him now. She watches as he fumbles for a handkerchief and eases himself out of her completely. Alice lays back and sighs happily as he gently wipes away the mess on her thighs and then tends to himself. As he does so, kneeling, he glances toward her, his gaze a bit jittery and his brows a bit scrunched with apprehension.

Alice forces herself to sit up. She presses against his side, wraps an arm around his waist, and rubs her cheek against his shoulder. He sighs again and it is a happy sound.

She opens her eyes and a square of white parchment, lying in stark contrast on the dirty floor a few feet away, catches her gaze. She makes no move to retrieve it. Examining the envelope, which she had dropped at some point, she finally locates a few words that ought to be said. “You waited for me and I’m so very late,” she apologizes.

The Hatter scoots closer to her and reciprocates her gesture by wrapping an arm around her waist. “You _are_ quite late,” he acknowledges, considering the rotted remains of the chair. “Naughty!”

Alice blushes at the hot look he gives her.

“But, in truth, I do not recall the wait. I was asleep, I believe.”

“You were,” she confirms. “Very deeply asleep.”

He nods. “The queen promised it would be so: I drank the potion and fell asleep here, in my chair, to wait for your return.” And then he giggles. “I’m so very glad you followed the instruction card!”

Alice raises a brow, glances at the discarded envelope and then back at him. She gives him a quick once-over before smirking, “That... and a bit more.”

He cackles and hugs her closer. “Aye, ye exceeded mae expectations, Alice,” he murmurs warmly and she melts against him; she has never felt more cherished. And then he sobers. His gaze moves over her, cataloging with rather intimidating efficiency. “I knew I would have to wait, despite what you’d said.” There is no accusation in his tone, only acceptance. “I tried not to know it. But I _did_ know it, Alice.” He brows twitch in apology. “That’s when I asked for the chair and the potion and permission to wait for you here. I expected it might be a year... but you’ve exceeded those expectations as well, haven’t you?”

He reaches out and touches the corner of her mouth, where she knows laugh lines have begun to deepen. She lifts her own hand to his face and the crow’s feet that grow from the far corner of each of his eyes. “Yes, it was more than a year,” she admits, wondering if they are the same age now.

He grins and she can’t help smiling at his gap-toothed expression of joy. “But never mind! And never matter! You are here now!” And then his smile droops and he whispers cautiously, “To stay?”

“Yes,” she answers confidently, thinking of the life of luxury she had left behind – her legacy and her gift to her family. Yes, they will miss her, but she Needs this. Him. She Needs him. And it’s long past time she allowed herself to give in to her desires. “I’ll stay.”

Sighing with contentment, the Hatter wraps his arms around her and leans back against the wall. There, they doze for a time. Occasionally, Alice stirs and rubs her hand over his jacket and vest, breathes in his scent, acquaints her cheek with his warmth. And when the first rumblings of her stomach are promptly answered by his, he – giggling – helps her stand and then reassembles her blouse (which leads to a bit more kissing and some wandering hands and even a bit of squealing and delighted chuckles) and Alice returns the favor by replacing his hat upon his head (again, this process takes a good deal longer than it had the _last_ time she had done him this small favor... and she quite enjoys herself and his amorous attentions, truth be told) before the Hatter collects the key from the table and the bottle of Pishsalver. Alice retrieves the Upelkuchen from the glass box on the floor.

“Are ye ready, my Alice?” he burrs softly.

Alice glances at the tiny door beside the remains of the long-decayed chair and nods. Yes, she is ready. Finally. At long last, she is looking forward to opening that door and emerging into the world beyond it. But first...

Alice steps over to the remains of the chair and collects the envelope from the ruins. Returning to the Hatter’s side, she gives him a knowing smirk and carefully tucks the envelope (and the instruction it still contains) back into his inner jacket pocket.

“Yes,” she says, basking in the Hatter’s luminous expression. “Now, I’m ready.”

And thus it happens that Alice Kingsleigh – no longer alone and no longer believing herself to be in a dream or a nightmare – unlocks the door and steps into Underland once more.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you’re kinda-sorta-maybe thinking this sounds like a take on the “sleeping beauty/snow white/princess under a magical enchantment is awakened with a kiss” story line... uh, you’d be right! With some Underlandian instructions thrown in. (^__~)
> 
> Blundering bandersnatches... is it just me or does this kinda-sorta-maybe feel like a prologue to something? Grrr.


End file.
